


Wish you were the one that got away

by RemainNameless



Series: Starts with "F", Ends with "U" [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Dark, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Phone Sex, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sequel to "Wanna break you down so badly" and "You hollow out my hungry eyes"</p><p>Less than two months after Stiles ends things with Rafa, Scott's bitten by a werewolf. There's no way Stiles could've known that it would start a chain of events that would make their paths cross yet again. </p><p>Or, less dramatically: the events of canon and beyond!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish you were the one that got away

**Author's Note:**

> Okay y'all. If you didn't read the first two parts, I recommend it because this whole thing will seem really fucking weird.  
> Now for the rest of y'all: whether you consider the events of the last two parts abusive or not, Stiles reacts in that way, so there's some talk about it, some self-victim-blaming, and that kind of thing. Physical, emotional, sexual, all of it. So there's some possibly triggery language just FYI.  
> ANDDDD FYI the Sterek and Steter aren't like explicit. They're just undertones atm.

Before he leaves Jess’, he’s got a text from Rafa’s number. **Have you cooled off yet? I had plans for us for breakfast.**

Stiles looks at it, sends back **Fuck you.**

 **Don’t be such a child** comes a minute later.

One sentence at a time, propelled by his anger, he sends **I thought you liked it. You thinking of how you’re going to punish me? I bet you’re fucking hard right now aren’t you? Fuck off.**

 **Are you done yet?** Rafa sends. 

**Yep. With you. Don’t fucking text me again.**

He blocks the number, too, just so he knows he can’t, in a moment of weakness, go crawling back. So he never has to think of Rafa again.

 

Of course it's not that fucking easy.

 

Stiles’ dad tells him he’s going to give Jess a hard time when he sees the buzz cut, but Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t do anything about it. 

Scott says it looks good and rubs his head for a week, says he feels like a puppy, and Stiles grins in a way he hopes reaches his eyes. It’s not Scott’s fault Stiles feels sick when he looks at him. If he just ignores it for long enough, it’ll go away.

He spends a lot of time not thinking about things.

Scott’s a good distraction if only because he’s Stiles’ _only_ distraction. And he seems thrilled every time Stiles asks him if he wants to practice for the upcoming lacrosse tryouts in January, right after the break. It helps the convoluted knot in Stiles’ gut loosen when their together until Stiles can look at Scott and just see _Scott_. 

But Stiles seeks out distractions. 

His dad thinks his ADD is getting worse. Asks if he wants to see Dr. Ellis again, maybe talk about adjusting his prescription. There’s a difference between willful distraction and distractibility, but he goes anyway, ups his prescription to the actual adult dose. At least for the first couple weeks he can’t really jerk off anymore. Well, he _can_ , but it gets so hard to get off that he just doesn’t even try. That helps. Even if he’s very strict about his fantasies these days. Always Lydia Martin.

She’s a _great_ distraction. He comes up with a five-year plan to woo her and tells Scott all about it. Scott’s supportive and _good_ , enough to make Stiles think it could actually work, that he’s actually good enough for her. 

But he can only talk and think about her for so many hours in the day before it gets repetitive, so he takes to listening to his dad’s police scanner. It pisses him off, but learning the codes and imagining what’s going on at the scene is _plenty_ time consuming. If he comes off as little obsessed with following in his dad’s footsteps, well, that’s not the worst thing. 

No, the worst thing comes when he hears about a body, a freaking _dead body_ , in the woods the night before the spring semester starts and decides to drag Scott out to find it. 

It turns out that the best thing for distraction is figuring out your best friend is a werewolf. It’s also probably the worst thing for his guilt. Because it’s _his fault_ that Scott got bitten, ten-fold, but something else happens that throws an interesting kink into the works. 

It’s the middle of the day and Scott’s scrabbling around dead leaves for his inhaler and this _guy_ walks up out of freaking _nowhere_. 

Something about him churns up all sorts of unwanted feelings, something about the cut of his jaw from a distance and the way he fills out his jeans. And then when Stiles really looks at his face, it’s like a slap. He recognizes the guy at once: Derek Hale. 

Last time Stiles saw him, he’d been young. It was a while after his mom died, not long after Scott’s dad left ( _don’t think about it, don’t think about it_ ), and he’d been in the station, waiting for his dad to finish work so they could grab dinner, and he’d seen this _kid_. Older, by a bit, but he’d looked so young, and more than that, he’d looked like his whole world had fallen down around his big ears. It had scared Stiles, been too familiar, but the thing about it is that in this moment, staring at a grown-up Derek Hale, Stiles realizes that faces don’t change enough in a decade to be unrecognizable. They just don’t. 

For a second, Hale looks at him and Stiles feels fear like an icepick to his stomach, hoping he’s not looking at Stiles with anything near _want_ , like he always does when men too old to go to high school with him stare. But it’s fine. Hale’s eyes move over him and there’s no danger of history repeating.

He tosses Scott’s inhaler at him easily and Stiles maybe stares too long when he walks away. 

 

The next time Stiles sees him, he’s got stubble on his face, enough to make Stiles shiver, and he’s being ducked into a police cruiser. Watching feels almost like catharsis, even though it’s wrong. Stiles pretends that this tableau wasn’t the part of the reason he tipped his dad off. 

But when he climbs into the cruiser, he realizes that Derek’s eyes are pale green, not brown. They make his face look open in a way that he’s not expecting, and Stiles is more afraid of Derek the man than Derek the monster. 

That is, until he sees that Derek the man is not so much a man at all. He’s a boy in a man’s clothes who shoves a bone saw into Stiles’ hands when he’s afraid of death. And maybe he has a man’s body, the kind of body that lights the twin aches of jealousy and lust in Stiles’ stomach, but there’s a very small, scared child in his eyes, a child with too-big ears and his whole world at his feet. Every time Stiles sees him, he sees that kid, wants to wrap him in a blanket and give him a hot mug of something that’ll save him.

And then Derek’s dead. And Stiles doesn’t get to think about it because he has to be afraid now. Because Scott wants to kill him sometimes, and there’s always this split-second where he thinks it’s because Scott knows what he did. When Scott kisses Lydia, it’s because he knows why Stiles wants her. 

But Derek’s not really dead, and one day he shoves Stiles against his bedroom door, and it’s the first time in maybe a long time that Stiles isn’t actively afraid of something. The child in a leather jacket with his fists bunched against Stiles’ chest backs down at the threat of his father, and there’s something comforting in the aggression on his face. Because the expressions on people’s faces rarely reflect what’s inside of them, and this aggressive posturing is just that. A front. If it were real, his face would betray nothing, but Derek’s not a threat. 

His _abs_ , on the other hand, well, Stiles ogles him vicariously through Danny because he’s not going to officially come out yet. Not when he can’t be sure of what he’s hoping to find when his eyes linger on men. 

The thing about Derek is that Stiles forgets he isn’t harmless. Gets a bruise on his forehead for it. Derek’s not harmless and Stiles wants to know why. Fear is easy for him to spot, a takes one to know one sort of thing, and Stiles wants to know why Derek has to slam his head into a steering wheel to stop being afraid of him. Why he was afraid in the first place. And he thinks _you know what that was for_ as he walks into the hospital, sees Derek going along with it when Stiles has him undress, and he tucks it away to chew on later. 

It turns into a mess after that.

Scott’s struggling, focused on Allison in a way that Stiles envies because it’s innocent. And there’s Lydia, and he knows that if she were to spare him a thought, it would be pity. When she looks at him, she broadcasts what she thinks of him: boring, loser, geeky, virgin, obsessed with her. He wonders what she’d think if he told her the truth, but he gets the feeling she’d look down on him for his failure where Rafa was concerned. _She_ could bring a man to his knees. 

She does, though, doesn’t she? She brings him right to his knees with too much blood on her party dress and a monster above her. A monster who’d looked at him the first time and said _you must be Stiles_ in a way that’d made him have a hard time breathing. 

Peter Hale is more monster than man, and the man that he was, Stiles feels instinctively, was not a good one. The way he looks at Stiles is hungry in too many ways. Power, blood, revenge, sex, fear. Stiles feels it in the burn of his skin and the careless way Peter hurts him. He’s not the type to settle on just one thing he wants, needs _everything_ all at once. 

With Peter’s breath against his wrist, Stiles trembles in a way he’d hoped he never would again. Half of it’s misplaced lust, and he’s not sure if Rafa conditioned him to confuse it with fear or if he’d been like that before. Looking at him, Stiles knows that Peter would push hard enough to show him his limits, even if he’d force his way through them. There’s something to be learned from him, but it would be a hard lesson. One he might not survive.

Stiles has learned the difference between things he wants and things he should let himself have, so he tells Peter _no_. 

Helping kill him doesn’t feel like an exorcism or a victory. It doesn’t feel like anything. 

He’s just starting to realize that, just getting hit with it when Derek turns around and says _I’m the alpha now_. 

Stiles knows at once that this is not a good development. Derek’s smile doesn’t quite fit him right, like it’s been tailored to fit someone else, and he carries himself with a sort of swagger that doesn’t hide the boy inside.

He holds it up, this _I’m the alpha_ , like a shield, like a prepared excuse. Like he knows that the moment will come when he needs to point at it and say that it’s not his fault. Stiles isn’t quite sure what he’s afraid is coming yet until just Isaac becomes Erica becomes Erica and Boyd becomes Erica and Boyd and oops Jackson too. 

And he’s so _sharp_ around Stiles. It’s a head rush. He’s a walking defense mechanism and every time he proves it, Stiles wants to sit him down and figure it out, why his default towards Stiles is anger and intimidation, which in the language of boyhood means it’s really _fear_. 

He gets his chance to distract himself with the Derek Hale enigma in the swimming pool when he’s supposed to be making his dad proud on the field. 

There’s something about the way Derek can go from threatening him one second to pushing him out of harm’s way the next and assume not only that Stiles wouldn’t _notice_ but that he only considers Derek’s life valuable to the extent that it might save his own. No, Stiles’ reasons for keeping him alive might not be _noble_ , not in the sense that something as silly as _true love_ is noble, but they’re not malevolent. But they talk, enough that Stiles can see that Derek is vaguely intelligent, that he has a vague long-term plan for dealing with the fucking lizard monster trying to kill them, but Stiles can spot the trouble in it: he’s assuming that either Jackson or Lydia has not been somehow corrupted. That their human self is untainted, has good intentions.

People _don’t_ , as a general rule. 

But the interesting thing about Derek is that he assumes, whole-heartedly and with not even an edge of doubt, that Stiles will leave him to die if he doesn’t need him, that the only reason he hasn’t is that Stiles _does_ need him. So Stiles proves the former assumption wrong by disproving the latter. 

He doesn’t intend to _go down_ with Derek, but it’s instinct. And Scott saves them anyway, so it’s a moot point.

But before his clothes are dry, when even he can tell that he reeks of chlorine, it all clicks. He catches it, realizes that Derek had been operating on the assumption that Stiles had thought him a killer by nature. His eyes show it, wide like a child’s, and it’s apt, Stiles thinks, that they look grey in the thin light. Because this is Derek seeing Stiles’ grey space, and with less hesitation than he should show, Stiles lets him.

Of course, Derek decides to try killing Lydia without sufficient evidence, like maybe he’d rather be the ruthless killer than the scared child, but he doesn’t understand that it’s the posturing that betrays his youth. That people can see that it’s posturing. Or at least Stiles can. 

And then it’s all his dad. It’s his dad losing his job over Stiles, losing the last thing he has left because of Stiles, yet another thing that Stiles has taken from him. It’s his dad yelling at him and throwing a bottle, and Stiles is thankful that even his worst fears can’t comprehend the idea of his dad knowing about Rafa. But his dad is trying to fill the space between them with whiskey and disappointment and it’s too real. How’s he supposed to react to that?

Later, when he’s still shaking from it, trying to show his dad that Matt, who’s given Stiles the creeps from the start (it’s something to do with the camera, something about how people photograph the secrets they want to keep, the things they want to own, and something in his face, how it shifts like murky waters) is some kind of killer, and his dad won’t even listen to him. Doesn’t trust Stiles to tell the truth even in this. 

It’s not like he can _blame_ his dad for trusting Scott over him, but it’s like a slap. And part of it is this twisted thing he doesn’t want to think of, where his and Scott’s dads choose each other’s kids over their own, but he feels sick for thinking of it.

But Derek’s there. That’s not surprising or remarkable in itself, but what _is_ is what he does. Derek has stopped fighting him, it seems. Stiles knows the difference between bickering and fighting, and there’s no force behind it. And then he does the surprising thing and _protects_ Stiles. Protects his dad. They’re going to have to sit down and have a talk about how that means they’re friends now, but there’s no time for it. There’s too much going wrong and he can’t breathe under the weight of all of it.

When Gerard takes him, Stiles first realizes the difference between a blow meant to _hurt_ and one only meant to make a little pain. An old man beats the crap out of him and he won’t forget it, won’t forget seeing Boyd and Erica strung up and shaking. They stick with him more than anything.

 

Lydia will never love him, and he’s known that from the start, but each time he sees it, it hurts a little different. She comes to him at the wrong time is the thing. He’s barely more than edges, cracked under the weight of everything, and she’s there. 

She looks like his mom.

Maybe it’s part of her particular enigma, that she looks like her, that the reason Stiles knows strawberry blonde from red is because his mother taught him with strands of her own hair, but when everyone starts looking like a walking corpse to him, she the one that makes him break. She’s already died once. He can’t go through that again. No one should have to lose someone twice. 

She’s angry at him for it, sees the wrong kind of love. Or maybe the right kind, since he’s spent so long trying to project it, but it’s not what he means here. He means that he’s afraid that no one is safe anymore. 

When she chooses Jackson, as she’s always choosing Jackson, it still hurts. It’ll always hurt. Stiles might not love her the way she should be loved, but he sure as hell could do a better job. She deserves it, deserves someone nice and brave and strong. Someone like his father. Which is maybe why he’d wanted her in the first place, to give his parents another shot, but Stiles is not his dad. He’ll never be his dad. 

It’s that as much as her that makes him break. 

It’s the realization that he’s not going to have a simple, easy future like his parents. Or like they _did_ , before the cancer. He’s not going to have that. 

She’s still beautiful to him the way his mother was, still looks like hope, like his ideal of beauty was set when he was small. There’s no way to tell her that that doesn’t seem creepy, but he thinks she knows. That he’s not in love with an abstraction but an ideal. 

 

He doesn’t know how to explain it to Scott, either, so he just doesn’t. It’s easier that way. 

 

To stop himself from worrying about it, he goes to Derek, asks if Boyd and Erica need anything, considering. The blank look he gets is telling, and twenty minutes later, they’re at the Argents and Derek’s got Chris against the wall, asking where they are. Stiles spots Allison at the top of the stairs, a box labeled _Guest Bedroom_ balance on the bannister. Her shoulders hang heavily. 

Once they find out that Chris had let Boyd and Erica go, Derek’s hell-bent on finding them. He’s convinced that they would have gone looking for him after being injured, that it’s a pack instinct, but he doesn’t find them in any of the usual haunts. Stiles feels a sort of responsibility for them since he couldn’t get them out, and Derek lets him tag along sometimes. When they go out to the old house, he sees the mark on the front door, and Derek hesitates for a moment before filling him in. 

It’s obvious, then, that they’ve been captured as pawns. Which means that to find them, they need to find the alpha pack. 

 

Derek moves almost as soon as Stiles suggests it, doesn’t say it out loud, but Stiles knows he doesn’t feel safe in the rail station. Boyd and Erica know where it is, which means the alphas probably do, too. 

 

Scott’s on a self-improvement kick, and he says he likes hanging out with Stiles, but he’s just being nice. He needs space, solitude, for whatever he’s trying to do. It’s fine. It doesn’t change anything between them except that Stiles ends up helping Derek a lot more. And he doesn’t exactly _tell_ Scott. It’s not an easy thing to explain, and he’s busy. There’s no reason to bother him with it. It’s not like it means anything. 

Sometimes, it means something. But only when he and Derek are alone. They act different alone. Derek doesn’t have much in the way of furniture, so more often than not, they end up sitting against his headboard with books around them, trying to find a way to track or find Boyd and Erica or the alphas, _something_. If they fall asleep like that, they never talk about it. There’s no reason to. They have an understanding that they know each other through their guilt and it’s self-preservation, really, that they don’t talk about it. 

But it’s different with others there. 

If Isaac comes over, Derek tells Stiles to leave almost immediately. Never explains why. 

If it’s Peter, the way they move around each other is different. Derek keeps more space between them, wears his face differently. Protection. Stiles makes a case for killing Peter again, but Derek’s worried that if they do, they’ll realize just after that they need him to find the alphas. But he’s very clear, when Peter’s around, that Stiles is there as little more than a research slave. 

Peter’s eyes are bright when they land on him. “ _Such a waste of potential_ ,” he says, and Stiles waits just enough time for it not to seem like cause and effect before leaving. Whatever he wants from Stiles isn’t something he’s willing to give. 

And then there’s Scott. Stiles doesn’t say anything, but Derek does his best to act like the summer never happened. His words are sharper and he’s more physical, but Stiles thinks Scott knows. Something about the way he looks between them, realizes that Stiles knows about the alpha pack. (Stiles is going to kill Derek for only painting one side of the goddamn door. When he gets around to it.)

Heather is the first time he really lies about his sexual experience, and he’s surprised at how easy it comes. In some sense, it’s not a lie at all. He’s never penetrated anyone, doesn’t have the first clue really about what to do with a girl, not more than he’s gathered from porn. He _feels_ like a virgin in a lot of ways, and he can convince himself that the rest is all some weird dream, like he fell asleep watching a disturbing movie and put himself in it. But then she’s gone and he has no idea what to do about it.

When they figure out where Boyd and Erica are, they don’t even get a chance to celebrate. They’ll do that after, when they know they’re safe. But Stiles can feel Derek’s relief when he grabs his wrist, can see it in the smoothness of his face even though Peter’s not ten yards away.

Stiles isn’t _hurt_ that Derek doesn’t want him possibly dying to save Boyd and Erica, but he’s hurt that he doesn’t get to be there. That he’s left alone with Peter. Peter, who’s starting to figure out that he and Derek have some sort of friendship. A connection. His eyes are always moving over them, and when they’re alone, Stiles isn’t sure if Peter wants him because he’s Derek’s or if it’s something else. Not that he’s really _Derek_ ’s. They haven’t talked about it, the way they linger on each other, and they may never. The timing is off and they both know it. The lines tying them to other people are in the way. And maybe it’s just _too much_. Stiles has enough trouble handling his own guilt; what’s he supposed to do with Derek’s? That’s too heavy.

But he doesn’t get to worry about it much because Heather’s dead and Stiles uses feigned panic to cover up a lie to Scott, because it’s not like he can tell Scott he’s safe, that he doesn't fit the criteria for a virgin sacrifice. It’s not like he could get away with not telling him _who_ , so he lies. It’s too easy, really.

 

And then Derek dies again. This time, Stiles isn’t there. He can’t bring himself to go find the body, not that he really has the time, what with the cross country meet. Scott’s trauma, the wound and the guilt, make for enough distraction that he doesn’t have to think _Derek’s dead_. He throws it around without letting himself feel the impact of it. He doesn’t have time to grieve, so he just doesn’t. The Stilinski men are good for that. 

Scott’s falling apart, though. There’s too much for him to hold together, and Stiles can’t hold _him_ together. Maybe it’s the gasoline fumes, but when he looks at Scott in the scrubby light of the road flare, he sees the future. That one day, he’s not going to be enough. One day, Stiles won’t be able to pull him back from the edge. 

It makes him sick to think about it. There’s too much out of his control. He can’t hold onto everyone, keep them all safe. Failed with Derek, after all.

 

Only Derek’s not fucking _dead_. Apparently, he was just fucking their English teacher. Well, Stiles isn’t mad at _her_. It has nothing to do with her and everything to do with Derek and his inability to pick up a fucking phone. And maybe a little bit to do with the fact that he went to _someone else_ , someone not-Stiles, even though Stiles was miles away. It’s a stupid, petty anger, so he pushes it down, shoves it away and locks it up somewhere dark in him. 

It dissipates when he sees Derek, though. Sees him on his knees, water soaking into his jeans, with his bloody hands. Stiles doesn’t even _see_ Boyd at first, not until he’s halfway to Derek, and then he stops. 

Cora’s holding Boyd and Derek looks like he’s lost the last thing he ever had. Maybe he shouldn’t in front of these people, but he touches Derek’s shoulder, squeezes, because he shouldn’t be alone for this. He’s _not_ alone, and Stiles won’t leave him. He needs Derek to know that, even if he’s not quite sure why. The weight of what he’s feeling catches up to him. 

Of course, Derek runs before Stiles can say anything to him. Just gets the fuck out, leaves him with Peter and Cora and something without a name to turn over in his hands. It looks like pity at first, but he’s starting to think it’s empathy, that there’s a difference between the two. 

He wants to find Derek, but Stiles knows what it’s like to want to be alone and there’s shit going on at the school. Lydia can’t help, and it pisses him off because he thinks she _should_ , but it doesn’t always work like that. And he’s trying to explain it all to his dad, but _of course_ he doesn’t believe Stiles. That gets him, hollows out a place in his gut, because now he’s starting to wonder if his dad would have believed him about Rafa, or if he’d think Stiles was just bullshitting for attention. But then Lydia’s in trouble and his _dad_ is gone and it’s Ms. Blake, like the universe isn’t done shitting all over him and Derek and everyone else. 

To add to that, he and Scott have to tell Derek about her. He hopes, not for the first time, that Derek doesn’t love her. But he might, going by the denial in the square of his jaw. Agrees to see what she says when confronted with it, though, and that’s at least something, even though Stiles is about to throttle him or maybe himself for not just _trusting_ him.

Stiles can pinpoint the exact second Derek believes him, even if his face is blurry because Stiles is halfway to crying. Because if she has Derek, then they’re fucked, can’t find his dad, and that’s _all_ he cares about right now. 

But Derek believes him, and that’s a good thing for all of a couple seconds. Then Derek shuts down after that, like he’s realized that he woke up in a pile of shit and there’s no getting out. Like he’s forgotten that that’s how his life works. Which he needs to fucking get over because Stiles’ dad is possibly dead, and he’s not even supposed to be involved in the first place, but it’s probably Stiles’ fault, so everyone else’s problems can just sit the fuck down and wait their turn.

He yells.

It’s not very productive or mature, but he’s fucking done with people telling him what to do or feel or think. Derek of all people should know better than to get between Stiles and saving his dad by teaming up with his fucking ritual-sacrificing English-teaching werewolf-boning kidnapper.

Maybe he especially shouldn’t throw Kate in Derek’s face. Maybe Stiles knows that if someone did that to him with Rafa, he might actually kill them. That there are some bad decisions that you don’t need anyone’s help hating yourself for. But Stiles’ empathy doesn’t stand a chance against his fear of losing a second parent because of choices he made. _Nothing_ stands a chance against that. It looks like Derek maybe understands that, too, and sometime, he’ll thank Derek properly for not fighting back, for not letting his anger escalate to the point that Stiles might hurt someone. But not until his dad is safe.

And then it happens. 

Scott walks away. Scott leaves him behind. He has his reasons, sure, but all Stiles sees is him walking away. 

It might be his fault. It’s probably his fault. Scott probably knows, somehow. Probably suspects, instinctively. Knows that Stiles is a shitty friend, that he _deserves_ to be left with nothing. 

Except Derek, maybe. Because Derek’s alive and needs him. Needs Stiles to get him the fuck out before the cops swarm because they _will_ , inevitably, after all the shit that’s gone down at the hospital in the past couple hours. It’s probably the closest to a _thank you_ Stiles will ever be able to give him.

 

So Stiles sits tight and waits for the cops to come. He can handle anyone from the Sheriff’s department, knows most of them by name, even the new hires after what happened with Matt in March. And one of them _does_ come to him, Deputy Barker (Stiles smiles to himself over the great joke potential almost every time he sees her) and tells him that it’s officially an FBI issue now. That an agent is going to need to talk to him, that he’s on his way, just got caught up in the hurricane. 

More and more FBI agents, forensics people, come in, and Stiles waits, for almost an hour. It gives him time to prepare what he’s going to say: he was in the elevators the whole time, didn’t see anything, doesn’t know anything. Simple. 

 

He’s staring at his hands when he hears the doors open, and when he looks up, for just a second, he can hear the roar of an ocean crashing down on him.

Of _course_.

He _knew_ Rafa used to work in law enforcement with his dad. Not like he’d stop. No, he had to fucking go and join the FBI. Explains the handcuffs, at least. 

And he looks so fucking _pleased_ when he first sets his eyes on Stiles. _Fuck_. 

Because his dad getting kidnapped and possibly, considering that a second sacrifice has been taken, _murdered_ isn’t enough shit to pile on him. Of course _the only possible person who could make any of this worse_ would show up. Of course there’s no escaping him. It’s like Stiles is trapped in his orbit. 

He just stands in front of Stiles with his hands in his pockets, asks him stupid, _stupid_ questions about his dad, stuff that’s none of his fucking business and has nothing to do with the fact that he’s _missing_. He stands there, and Stiles doesn’t think anyone else would notice it, but his hips are just a little further forward than his natural posture, like he’s enjoying where Stiles’ face is, like he wants Stiles to know that if these people weren’t surrounding them, his zipper would already be down. 

And when Stiles tries to tell him to fuck off, he fucking _grins_. It’s a game to him. Stiles is a fucking toy to him. Something fun to play with, wind him up and watch him go. 

The thing is, Rafa has _no right_ to talk about his dad. They don’t even fucking compare. He can try to make Stiles’ dad look like a fuck-up, but he did the best he could and he _stayed_. He’ll beat Rafa out any day. 

 

But when Chris Argent is taken, that’s it. If she has the final sacrifice, there’s not even a _chance_ that his dad is going to be alive by the time Stiles can find him, and he can’t fucking handle it. 

He blanks out most of the panic attack, but he remembers Lydia’s lips on his. The shock of being in control of himself again. It’s good thinking on her part, and he tells her that, but something in her falters. That’s when he realizes that Lydia Martin’s just kissed him and all he can think to say about it is _that was smart_ , and they were both expecting a little more from him on the subject. Maybe even a try for a second kiss. But it’s not the right time and it just wasn’t that kind of kiss. It felt _final_ to him.

He doesn’t get to think about it for long, though, because they’ve got a lead, Morell, who, of course, is fucking _missing_. But then Stiles realizes it’s the nemeton, and he’s about to take Lydia with him to tell Derek and Peter when Stiles sees Rafa. 

If he’s at the school, with other agents, this is business. That’s something, at least. 

Lydia goes when he tells her, and Rafa takes him to an empty classroom. For a moment, Stiles sees himself being pressed against the chalkboard or bent over the desk, but Rafa doesn’t lock the door. Keeps a little distance. 

It’s worse, actually, that he doesn’t bring it up. He brings up Stiles’ dad too fucking much, but he doesn’t say anything about _them_ , and it makes Stiles edgy, nervous. This means he doesn’t know when it’s coming. When Rafa will inevitably find him and corner him and wear him down again.

Only it’s not going to happen again. 

Stiles doesn’t _want_ him, definitely doesn’t _need_ him, and he’s already got _way_ too much to worry about.

Rafa talks like Stiles is deliberately hiding information about his dad, and he _is_ , but not in the way Rafa’s implying. _Never_ like that. They’re not kidnappers or murderers, the group of them.

Deaton saves him just before the fact that his dad is probably dead fully catches up with him and he says something stupid because Rafa said _I don’t want you to be alone_ , and for a moment there, it felt like he really cares. But that’s a stupid trap to fall into. What he wants is Stiles’ body and that’s it, that’s all he cares about. If Rafa even still wants him anymore. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Stiles is seeing what he expects to see, maybe he took Stiles’ big no to heart. 

On the way to the clinic, Deaton asks him if he knows where he can find something to remind him of his dad. The crumpled Sheriff’s star is in his pocket, has been since Jennifer took him. The edges are sharp, but Stiles handles it gently so he doesn’t cut himself. 

An hour later, he’s stepping into a tub of water so cold his balls retract into his spleen, and as he forces himself to sit, he looks at Scott. Knows that they might not both come back. Stiles wants to tell him that he loves him, that he’ll always be Stiles’ best friend, that he’s sorry, that he never meant to be who he is. But all that comes out is _your dad’s in town_. Can’t even finish it, can’t tell him the truth. Maybe it’s for the best this way.

He can feel his body slowing down, the tightness in his joints growing until he can’t bend his fingers anymore, the icy water turning warm and pleasant. 

When Lydia’s hands settle on his shoulders and push him under, he’s not sure if he wants to come back.

 

Finding the nemeton feels like a hollow victory. 

He can feel the fear cold around his heart because he hasn’t found his dad yet, _needs to find his dad_. Until he’s looking at his father, can grab his shoulders and feel that he’s real and alive, it’s not over. 

Deaton called it a darkness, what would find him, but it’s not, not really. It’s knowledge. Knowledge tinged with both despair and apathy. 

His father is probably dead. He can’t change that fact. And he can’t even muster the rage to yell about it, so he doesn’t. All he does is _drive_. 

But he can’t even fucking do that, apparently, because he comes to with a blinding headache and a wrecked Jeep. Leaning down to find the bat he keeps in the back seat makes it feel like his brain is going to push out of his skull, but his fingers close around the base and he _runs_ into the woods. It’s a tunnel-vision kind of thing, but a _feeling_. He locks in on the nemeton and lets his body chase itself there.

What he finds is the ground collapsing under the orange umbral glow of the moon, and voices, so he digs, finds a way in. There’s a supporting beam about to collapse and he only _just_ manages to jam his bat under it to keep it from falling.

A voice says something next to him and _that’s his dad_. He’s _alive_. 

Stiles isn’t sure if he cries or not, but he knows he hugs his dad for too long, convincing himself that he’s real. He _is_ , though, he’s alive and relatively unharmed, and that’s probably the best thing that’s happened to him in a month. In a _year_. 

When he calls Scott, it sounds like he’s okay and he doesn’t say that Derek’s died again, so everyone’s okay. For the first time in a long time. 

 

As soon as he and his dad walk into the house, his dad hugs him again, a little too tight.

“I should have believed you,” he says, and Stiles shakes his head into his shoulder, tries not to cry. 

“I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry I lied about everything,” he says, and that’s all he can get out before his throat chokes up. His dad holds him and lets him cry into his jacket, lets him get it out. He’s not sure if his dad cries, too, but he doesn’t want to know. More of a guilt thing than an issue with showing weakness. 

When he gets upstairs, his window is open. It wasn’t the last time he was in the room. He’s not sure what that means, who’s going to jump out at him. He sits on top of the covers for a long time before he falls asleep.

 

Scott wants to talk about it, their near-death experience, or whatever they’re calling it. He says it feels like there’s something _wrong_ and terrible inside of him, and Stiles says he feels it too, but the thing is, he doesn’t feel any different. 

There are dreams that he has, dark dreams and sex dreams and blood dreams, and not all of them are new. Most of them aren't. But when he’s awake, he thinks he feels the same. It's the same low-grade terror that's been buzzing beneath the surface for months. Why would it go away?

 

Derek leaves. Stiles isn’t precisely sure when because he doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t tell anyone if he’s coming back. Stiles only sends him one text, right when he finds out. 

**Don’t forget to come back.**

There’s no response.

 

“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” Scott tells him one afternoon. 

Stiles smiles, not too wide. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

His dad has questions, always has questions. He doesn’t want the sparknotes version Stiles gave him over his chess set. Never all at once, though. Stiles suspects he’s getting information from other sources as well. But he’ll be pouring a bowl of cereal while his dad works on his coffee, and he’ll ask something random. 

“So, Derek killed Peter but now Peter’s helping Derek?”

“Jackson is definitely not a lizard anymore?”

“Where did Cora come from?”

“You didn’t really spend your summer with Scott?”

“When’s Derek coming back again?”

Stiles doesn’t really have answers, but he’s honest. He tells what he knows. It’s the best he can do. 

 

Scott tells him that his dad’s making a pathetic attempt at being part of his life again. 

“That sucks, dude,” Stiles says, not letting himself worry about what that means for how long he’s going to be in town. 

“Yeah, he’s staying at some lame-ass motel, though, because my mom won’t let him stay in the house. Thank God. Such a dick.”

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say about Scott’s dad in a normal universe so he keeps his mouth shut.

 

The first text comes less than a week after the major shitshow. Unknown number.

**Super 8. Rm 232.**

That’s it, and that’s all Stiles needs to know who it is. He doesn’t text back, but he doesn’t block the number either. There’s a chance he might need it, and maybe Rafa will give him evidence to use against him. It’s possible. Stiles wouldn’t exactly call him careless, but he decides to look back through their old texts.

No pictures with Rafa’s face. Nothing indicative of who he is. But plenty explicit. Who knows if he used his real phone or bought a cheap disposable one, but it’s something, at least. If Stiles made an accusation, someone would have to at least look into it. Not that he’ll be making any accusations any time soon. Because it would go through his dad, and since his dad seems to be into believing him these days, it’s possible Rafa would end up dead or very suspiciously missing. Because he’s not just an older man, he’s the older man his dad used to trade off on babysitting with. Conclusions would be drawn. 

The gross thing about it all is that rereading the texts has him half hard in a matter of seconds. It’s been almost a year since the last time he read them, and at the time, he’d had his dick in hand, so it makes _sense_ that this is what his response is like, but it makes his skin crawl.

This is delicate. 

If he responds, he’s encouraging more. That could be used against him if he ever tries to go to anyone with this. 

Which means he needs to decide if he’s ever going to go to anyone with this. 

He can never tell his dad. That’s off the table. Not even because he’s not sure Rafa will survive it because he’s not trying to _protect_ Rafa or anything. It’s a shame thing, really. Because Stiles went up to _him_ , left his number, went to his apartment _twice_. He has no excuse, really. It was _consensual_ , that’s the problem. 

He still feels like shit about it. 

The thing about it is that the only reason to text back is to do it again. He _knows_ that even if he tries to tell Rafa off, it’s not real. If he were really against it, he just wouldn’t make contact. It would be stupid, playing at being upset when he wants it. He’s not going to do that.

But the fact of the matter is that Stiles hasn’t gotten laid since, hasn’t come that hard since, even with four fingers jammed up his ass. If Rafa tries to fuck him again, he’ll only be able to hold out for so long.

Only there’s Scott to worry about, isn’t there? He wouldn’t understand _any_ of it, would get it less than Stiles himself does, if he found out. Which he’s never going to do. Scott will _never_ know. Stiles would probably rather be dead than know that he knows. It’s just not an option. But he’s _pretty sure_ it’s hard to hide who you’re fucking from a werewolf, especially one he sees every day. 

So he and Rafa can’t do it again. Not up for consideration. Good. It’s settled.

Well, they can’t _fuck_. Probably can’t exchange bodily fluids of any kind. Or get too close, can’t touch, not really because scent soaks in, doesn’t it? So that’s out.  

But they both have phones, don’t they?

 _No_. 

He’s not going to do this again. 

Rafa’s _Scott’s dad_. 

And a fucking _FBI_ agent. 

It’s off the table completely. Not up for consideration. 

Only now that Stiles knows he can have it, can fuck something that isn’t his own hand, he’s buzzing with it. He’s sixteen and he knows what it’s like now. Knows how fucking good it can feel. And it’s _right there_ , at the fucking Super 8, probably waiting for him on a shitty queen-sized bed. 

No, Rafa’s not the only person in the world with a dick. He’s not the only person who can give Stiles what he wants. All he needs is a willing dude. There’ve got to be _plenty_ out there. 

He could go to the Jungle, but then he might run into someone he knows. And he’d need a wingman, and Scott could be great for that. Or he could not-so-subtly say that he thinks Stiles should lose it to someone he knows better. Because he thinks Stiles is a virgin. Which means Stiles has to keep that up. 

It’s not like he has another wingman. Isaac is a _hard no_ because Stiles is on Team Scott and bros don’t get it on with exes without getting the okay first. The okay that Scott _would have given him_ , and _has_ , but it’s polite to talk it out first. He and Scott agreed on that at the end of eighth grade, when they thought going to high school would automatically get them girlfriends. So Isaac’s out, and that leaves who? Danny’s with Ethan, so it would probably be the two of them, and Stiles isn’t cool with being a third wheel. And _they_ ’re probably not cool with him being their third wheel. Danny’s just not really his bro and, well, Ethan is kind of on Stiles’ shit list for now. Kinda happens when you use another guy to kill someone he cares about. 

There isn’t really anyone left. Hell, maybe he’d bother Derek about it, see if he could convince him, but that would be weird. The idea of it just doesn’t feel right. 

Who else does he even _know_ who would possibly go to a gay club?

Not Peter.

(Maybe Peter? But Stiles doesn’t doubt that he’d be petty enough to cockblock him. To what ends? Well, Stiles is pretty sure he wouldn’t make it through the night un-groped. Maybe more than that. But he’s not going to fuck Peter. Horrible decision in so many ways. And he doesn’t want to make fucking his friends’ family members a thing for him. Even if _friend_ is a weird word to use for Derek. And even if Derek’s _gone_. Might not be coming back. No one fucking knows.)

Peter isn’t on the table. Nowhere near the table. He’s never even _seen_ the table. 

Not Peter, but someone attractive, maybe a little more experienced than a high schooler, maybe someone who can hold him down…

He’s not going to fuck anyone’s dad. Even though, well...it’s not like no one’s _noticed_ that, say, Chris Argent is objectively good-looking and the whole air of danger’s kind of a turn on. But he’s not going to be into people’s dads.

Surrogate dads count, too. He makes that executive decision before he can start thinking too hard about Deaton, pretending he wants to know a little more about the whole emissary thing so he can get in close... _No_. He’s not going to go down this road. It’s not like he _wants_ to, anyway, it’s not like he spends all his time thinking about it. 

It’s Rafa’s fault, really. The fact that he’s _here_ , it’s making Stiles think about things he wouldn’t. And it’s not _just_ him, it’s the combination of him and the fact that there’s no _immediate_ danger anymore and the fact that whenever he talks to Scott it feels like he’s pretending to be himself and the fact that he doesn’t have anyone to just shoot the shit with, forget the rest of the world for a little while. 

There’s a hole in him, a void, and he wants to plug it up with his fingers or shove something he hates in it. Wants to fill it, and it feels like fucking might do that. Or at least let him _stop thinking_ about it. 

He misses it, not thinking.

It’s _better_ , sure, now that his dad knows and Scott’s an alpha and Jennifer’s dead and Deucalion’s fucked off somewhere and Gerard is supposedly part of the vanilla pudding crown. But now he feels like he’s jumping at shadows, and he’s not _better_ , his stress level is still exactly the same, it’s just that now he doesn’t have anything to pin it on. There’s no justifiable reason to think that he’s going to wake up to his house burning around him or come home to find his dad mauled in the living room, no reason to think the dreams will be _real_. They’re not, and it’s not like after months of having them, they’re suddenly more terrifying, but sometimes he sees blood out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes he sees something glowing in the dark, just for an instant. 

And it doesn’t stop. It’s always there, right at the edge of his vision before he blinks, and he just needs to get out of his fear for a moment or two.

He hears the dial tone before he really realizes what he’s doing, and he doesn’t really have time to panic because Rafa picks up right after the first ring.

“ _I didn’t think you were one for calling_.”

Hearing his voice, Stiles _does_ panic, at least until he remembers that his dad is at werewolf PTA and he’s alone. 

“ _Are you just going to sit there and breathe heavily, or was there a point to this?_ ” There’s a sharpness to his voice that makes Stiles rise to it. 

“Bet you’d jerk off to it if I did.” 

There’s a faint snort. “ _So it’s that kind of call, is it?_ ”

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” Stiles tells him, if only because _he_ ’s not really sure why he called. 

“ _You want me to fuck you, but you don’t_ like _that you do, so you’re going to play coy and pretend you’re above it all and hope I talk you off._ ” Stiles grits his teeth while Rafa sighs on the other end. “ _Don’t think I don’t know you, Stiles. Don’t ever think that._ ” 

“We can’t,” Stiles says. “It’s too dangerous.” 

“ _You can’t even say it, can you? Are you really that afraid of admitting to what you want?_ ”

Stiles bites his tongue, lets the pain ground him. “We can’t _fuck_ ,” he repeats. “It’s not going to happen.”

“ _Cautious boy,_ ” Rafa says softly, and the warmth of it makes Stiles shiver. “ _I bet you hate it. I bet you finger yourself raw, and it’s never quite enough, is it?_ ” With effort, Stiles forces himself to keep his hand above his waistband, won’t touch himself, won’t allow it. But God, his dick is pretty much obsessed with Rafa. His voice is like a fucking hair-trigger.

“You’re one to talk. You find a better ass in the city? Or is it just not the same when they didn’t grow up with your son?”

Rafa laughs. “ _I like you like this. With a little bite. You should come over_.”

“I told you, it isn’t going to happen,” Stiles repeats. “I’m not some poor kid with a missing dad anymore. I don’t need someone to stay with, Mister Concerned FBI Agent.” 

“ _I would’ve fucked you in that room if I thought I could get away with it. Would’ve sent you back into the hall with come soaking your jeans, kept your underwear in my pocket so you would have to come back for them later._ ” 

“You’re a fucking psycho, you know that?” He means it, but he’s palming his cock through his jeans, trying to tell himself it doesn’t count as jerking off. 

“ _Maybe I’d pull you out of class later, shove your pants down and fuck you in the middle of the hall. Make you get me off fast before class was over and everyone could see how desperate you are to be filled._ ” 

Yeah, he gives up the no-jerking-off fight. It’s a losing battle anyway. 

“ _Or maybe I want you on your knees. Maybe I want to fuck your mouth, hold you down on my cock until I can feel it in your throat. So your voice goes rough after, wanna hear you try to come up with an excuse when your dad asks you why it sounds like you gargled gravel. Bet he’s gonna wonder why those lips of yours are so red. Got a fucking perfect mouth, you know that?_ ” 

Stiles whines, cock spitting precome all over his hand, hates himself for it, so he says, “Really? You think I’m that easy? You think you can tell me I have a nice mouth and I’ll bend over for you anywhere you want? Pretty fucking arrogant, I’d say.”

“ _Hard-to-get doesn’t suit you, kiddo_ ,” Rafa tells him, and Stiles can hear a smile in it, wants to punch him for that. “ _You know I’ll get you off. Love how easy it is to make you come. Bet you could get off with just my tongue in you, open you up, get you so wet_ —” Stiles bites his hand, trying to hold back a whimper because fuck, he’s close, it’s sick but so good. “ _Don’t hold back, baby, come on. Let Daddy hear you. Moan for me like I’m licking your sweet, pretty little hole._ ” 

Rafa stops like he knows, somehow, knows that’s all it takes, knows Stiles is shooting all over his hand and shirt, head thrown back. Maybe he does moan. Just a little. 

“ _Fuck, you sound so good_.” Stiles jerks another trickle of come out of his dick while Rafa groans into his ear. Hearing him breathe, it feels like touching him, like being pressed tight against his body. He craves it as much as he hates it. 

“I’m not doing any more than this,” Stiles tells him, purposefully harshing his afterglow. “You can text me, but that’s it. Don’t talk to me.”

Rafa tuts. “ _Oh, but Mr. Stilinski, I’m afraid I’ll have questions for you about this case_. _Why do I have the feeling you know far more than you’re letting on?_ ”

Stiles hangs up.

He swears he can hear Rafa’s laugh anyway, hears it in his head even after he turns out the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> mooooore to come y'all  
> (ps i give probably too many updates on my tumblr so if u want u can keep up with dat shit and also i like talking to people even if i kind of suck at it and if u want to go anon to talk about this story in particular i am totally cool with it yo)


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